


Picture Frame Of Rage

by nancy, Zen



Category: due South
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:45:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nancy/pseuds/nancy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zen/pseuds/Zen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This one runs that non consensual line, but we wouldn't call it a rape story. Ray gets drunk and mean, 'nuff said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture Frame Of Rage

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a rape story, but if non-con is an issue for you, you probably want to skip it. Just an old fashioned bump and grind pwp, as nasty as it gets.
> 
> Set about three weeks after Strange Bedfellows.
> 
> This one is for MoonPuppy, who wanted Ray on top, not being nice about it.
> 
> Story title borrowed without permission from The Headstones. 
> 
> This story was first published years ago at http://hos.slashcity.com/ and is archived here for preservation and accessibility.

~-~

This is the fifth time in two weeks that I've planted my skinny ass on this barstool, and I know that I'm heading down a very bad path when the bartender smiles when he see me walk in, and puts a beer and a shot on the bar without me sayin' a word. Very bad path. I swear to God, my apartment has gotten smaller in the past few weeks. I've paced, danced, sat, and slept in every inch of that place, and I can't stand to look at it anymore. I've been working as much as possible, but that's even worse, sometimes.

I can't get away from either of them, except at my place, and then I can't get away from myself and all the stuff that won't stop running through my head. So what do I do? I drag my sorry ass to the bar around the corner from my building and drink. Alone. I know I'm falling, screwing up, but I can't seem to stop, don't know what else to do. I'm fresh out of ideas, and energy, and courage.  I failed at my first life, and now I'm screwing this one up, too. I couldn't be what Stella wanted, what she needed, couldn't be the person she wanted me to be. Never will be that guy, and I stopped trying a long time ago. I don't know if anyone could live up to Fraser's standards, know for sure I can't. I ain't that guy, either.

It all runs around my head in circles, like some "This Is Your Life" kinda slide show. I'm 13 years old in that bank, pissing in my pants. Then, I'm in that crypt, staring into Fraser's eyes, asking him if he thinks I'm attractive. Then, we're in the car, me and Fraser, and I'm watching Stella make out with that Alderman. It keeps going... flashes of Stella giving me cold looks when we cross paths at work, Fraser getting on my case about anything and everything, and it goes on and on and on. And I ache, an' I'm sick of it.

I miss her, still. Deep inside me there's this empty spot where The Stella used to be. Fraser gave me a funny look when he heard me call her that, but I been doin' it since we were kids. I worshipped her, she was bigger than life to me, untouchable, still is in a way. I couldn't think of her as just Stella, so "The Stella" was born. It used to make her laugh, when we were kids. Now, I think she might pop me one if she heard me say it. Doesn't change the fact that there's this empty Stella hole inside me. It's not as big and gaping as it used to be, though, and that's where the next kick in the gut- or is it a kick in the head?- comes from... The Mountie.

Talk about being blind sided. Blind sided, blindfolded, and just plain blind. I never saw him comin', had no idea what I was in for when they said, "Oh yeah, your partner, he's Canadian." I had a chance to start over, and I took it, and then Fraser showed up and I'm still not sure what hit me. He's like nobody I've ever met, and he got into my life so fast, so easy, and so God damn hard. He makes me crazy, always correcting me, always gettin' me to do things I'd never do. He makes me crazy, the way he smiles or laughs at something I've said and it's like everything else kind of fades into the background, and it seems so light, so bright, it makes me want to put on my sunglasses. So, I end up grinning and squinting back at him like an idiot, seeing nothing but him. That's when the Stella hole gets smaller, but then he shuts the smile off and it's back to business, back to being the perfect Constable Benton Fraser, R.C.M.P. Maybe that's why Fraser's smile is so incredible, because ya get to see his very imperfect teeth; ya get to peek inside where it isn't all spotless and proper. That's what gets my blood boiling, how everything with Fraser has to be neat and tidy. Organized, compartmentalized, and sanitized, that's Fraser. I just want to shake him till he does something rash, something wrong, make him be reckless and stupid for a change.

My friendly bartender sets my third beer and my fifth shot in front of me. I toss back the shot, feeling the burn of whiskey run down my throat, spread through my chest, and almost to the hollow, empty spaces inside me. The beer cools the path, and I don't feel quite as empty as I did a couple of hours ago. Now all I have to do is drag my ass home before I pass out on the bar. I keep telling myself I should go, as I nurse my beer, putting it off as long as I can.

My nerves are still racing, jumping under my skin, even though I'm drunk as hell, or maybe because of it. I find myself looking around, seeing if there's anyone in here I could pick a fight with. I need to hit something, a lot, need to get this shit out of me, somehow. My knuckles are itching to make contact with something, someone, anything. I'm just sick of all this guilt and crap I got running around inside me.

A hand clamps down on my shoulder and I practically jump out of my skin when I hear Fraser's voice saying my name.

"Ray."

He doesn't say anything else, just my name,  then he sits down on the stool next to mine and looks at me. I can see him sizing me up, trying to figure out how drunk I am. I know I'm three sheets to the wind when I see his face turn into a frown, but it's in super slow motion. It's like I can see every crease in his forehead come to life.

"Come on Ray, it's time to go home." He says it quiet, all concerned and disapproving.

I want too many things at once, and none of them make sense to me. I want to punch him in the face for being so damn perfect. I want to tell him that I don't deserve him, that he's the best friend I ever had. I want to... want to... to figure out a way to tap into his goodness and make it dirty, make him dirty. It's like I can _feel_ this mean streak running through my blood, finally breaking through, pushing me to give in, to let loose, go crazy.

He runs his thumb over his eyebrow and for a moment, some of the creases disappear, then he takes me by the elbow and pulls me up. Before I realize it, I'm standing. I'm not so drunk that I don't remember to toss a few bills on the bar before Fraser steers me outside. He isn't lecturing me, isn't asking me why I'm pickling myself at the local tavern. He isn't talking at all. When we get outside, he slings my arm across his shoulder, and grabs me around my waist. Then we start walking, or trying to. That's when I know I wouldn't have made it home on my own without falling down, a lot. As I stumble along, Fraser holds me tight, keeping me on track, keeping me on my feet. God damn dependable Mountie.

"Back off, Fraser, I can walk." I hear my voice and it's cold, snarling.

"Actually, Ray, I don't believe that you can." He's looking at me like I'm a kid, or a simpleton, speaking slowly and shaking his head.

Bam-Bang-Boom, I'm lunging for him, pulling back to punch him solid in the face, feeling better than I have in days, and then the world goes all tilted and I'm on my ass on the pavement, trying to figure out what I tripped on.

"Thank you, Ray," he huffs as he hooks his arms under my shoulders, getting ready to pull me up. "For illustrating my point so gracefully."

"That's it Fraser," I'm yelling as I try to get out of his grip. "I've had it with you and your high and mighty, better than everyone bullshit."

"Have you, Ray?" The snottiness is reaching new levels. He steps away from me and watches me shake off his touch. He looks at me like he's going to turn around and walk away, opens his mouth and closes it, and then it seems like he changes his mind. "Perhaps it would be best if we settled this somewhere but in the street, Ray."

"Oh yeah, of course, Fraser. We couldn't be seen yelling in the streets like normal people, heavens no, that wouldn't be proper. That might stain your perfect reputation. Cause a _scene_."

"Really, Ray, that's hardly necessary."

Back at my apartment, I manage to get my key in the door on the very first try, and I'm proud of myself. "Okay, Fraser, thanks and all that shit. I can handle it from here."

"I think you'd better invite me in Ray, it doesn't seem wise to leave you alone in this condition."

"What's wrong with you? Why are you such a freak? Why can't you just say drunk? Why do you always have to make shit look happier than it is? The world isn't a happy place, Fraser. If you'd come out from under your rock you might see that for yourself."

He follows me into my apartment, closing the door sharply behind him. "Because if I called you drunk, Ray, I would have to add that you've been in this state twice already this week, and it's only Thursday." His disapproval just _radiates_.

"Yeah? What's your fuckin' point. I'm human, humans do stupid things. You, I'm not so sure about."  I struggle out of my coat and throw it across the room, but it doesn't satisfy any of my rage. I'm back to staggering around the place like a caged animal, but now, Fraser's here. Opening his mouth, getting ready to say the next thing to piss me off, and I'm waitin' for it, ready for it. He takes his time, choosing his words very carefully so that I will understand the importance of what he says and that _he's_ sober and rational and the one with a brain. I can see him timing it, making sure that I'm _waiting_ for him to talk.

"Errors in judgment are usually made based on emotion, Ray. As I know you are not normally inclined to alcohol abuse, I'm sure that there _is_ a reason for your actions. And I can assure you I am indeed very human."

" _You are indeed._ You are indeed a fucking freak. And you're turning _me_ into a freak. I'm serious Fraser, I've had it with you, making me look bad all the time, second guessing me and proving me wrong and making me look stupid." I'm pacing, my steps getting shorter and shorter before I turn, until I have to spin around and put my fist through the wall to stop the top of my head from blowing off. I don't even know what I'm saying, just that it feels _good_ to get it out.

Fraser is next to me and pulling my arm out of the hole in the drywall as soon as I open my eyes, and, huge shock, he's talking again.

"This is exactly what I was afraid of, Ray. You're not in control--" That's as far as he gets. My bloody, drywall-dusted fist connects with his big fat mouth and shuts him up, instantly. It's so satisfying I want to do it about a hundred more times.

I growl at him, up in his face, and I can feel the tightness of the smile spreading across my face. "You have no idea how out of control I can get, Fraser." I'm about to show him, though. This is the fight I wanted, the fight I was looking for.

He reeled back from my punch, his head snapped back with a satisfying jerk, but he didn't fall and that's just not enough. I jump him, hit him with all my weight, my hands flat in the center of his chest, and he goes over backwards. I fall down on top of him, my knees hitting the floor hard on either side of his legs. I take the cheap shot to his ribcage, watching the shock and the pain in his face with satisfaction. He gasps hard, the sound loud in my ears. I reach back to hit him again, winding up like a pitcher, and backhand him hard across his face, leaving a dark red print of knuckles on his cheek. I grin at him, hear myself growl because there are no words to say how good this feels. It's been boiling inside me for so long, and _finally_ , it's out, and he has to deal with it, too. Dumping Fraser on his ass is the most satisfying thing that's happened in months.

I can feel it underneath me, too, the anger in him. I feel it coiling like a spring, and then Mountie strength hits me like a brick wall and I'm flying backwards, and even that feels good. My head cracking the floor feels good because I've got him, and I've got him _angry_. The look on his face is ugly, twisted and snarling; perfect.

"Is that what it takes, Fraser? I gotta bitchslap you to get through?"

He's trying to hold my arms down and I'm trying to do the same thing to him; we're struggling and panting in each other's faces. As soon as the word "bitchslap" comes out of my mouth his face goes blank and frozen with fury. Like not only can he not believe I did it, but I _said_ it, too, made him hear it even if he does have me pinned underneath him.

"You're making an ass out of yourself, Ray, and I'm afraid that you've pushed me to the point where I have no choice but to make an ass out of myself, as well. Get control of yourself." He wrenches his arm from my grip and punches me in the face. His fist connects with my nose and I go crazy underneath him. We're rolling around the floor, ripping each other's shirts and kicking and grunting. Elbows, knees, bouncing off furniture and the wall, every now and then one of us lands a punch. It's dirty, sweaty, bloody and feels it fantastic. I get too caught up in how sweet this feels and Fraser gets the upper hand, pins me under him.

I can see him about to open his mouth and say something, when I squirm under him, trying to get some leverage, and my hard-on pushes against his leg. He freezes, the look on his face is priceless- astonishment, denial, disbelief with just a touch of terror. I'm not surprised at all, even though I wasn't even aware I was hard, even though I never thought about Fraser and sex in the same sentence before. I'm not surprised, but this isn't sex, this is more, and less, and something that I don't know what it is, but it feels so fuckin' good I don't care. I want to shock him, scare him, rattle him and break him apart. I want to see his ugly insides, because _now_ , I got proof that he has them.

I grind myself against him and attach my mouth to his neck. I'm sucking and biting, starving for something I can't find words for. I don't think there are words for feelings like this, and if there are, I don't want to know them. He's fighting me, pulling away, saying my name over and over, his voice total panic. No way I'm letting go of this, of him. I'm wrapping my arms around his neck, grabbing fistfuls of his flannel shirt, and wrapping my legs around his. No way I'm letting go.

I'm on the bottom but he can't get away. I'm hanging on to him with with both arms and both legs and my teeth, and he's pretty well trapped. I can hear him trying to shout something at me, but the words turn into noises of surprise, and then pain, as my mouth sucks harder and harder, leaving an ugly, dark red purple mark on his perfect white neck. His hands push against the floor, trying to pull himself up off me, but I hang on, force him to roll and don't even give him the chance to get away from me. I shove my knee between his legs and push, and get the quickest, sharpest little jerk into my hips, for just a second I can feel the flutter of his dick getting hard under my leg.

"Stop it! Ray! _Ray! Stop it!_ "

I have no intention of stopping, but I gotta shut him up so I come down over his mouth, sticking my tongue into the black hole where all the words come out. He bites me hard, viciously, snarl and spit filling the space left between us. I feel blood running down my mouth and fast, before he can get a good enough grip on my ribs to shove me off him, I grab two fistfuls of his hair and slam his head down on the floor. He yells, and bucks up into my crotch like a bullet.

"Shit! Dammit Ray! Get the fuck off me!"

_Bang_. Thank you. I win. Hearing those words coming out of his perfect, pretty mouth is like somebody plugging me in and cranking up the voltage. It's good on so many levels my brain doesn't even know where to start, but I'm so turned on I'm talking. "You said fuck. Can you believe it, Fraser? You said fuck and you're rock hard. Feel this, Fraser? This is your dick. Now how bad do I gotta mess you up to get "Fuck" and "Me" out of you in one sentence?" I didn't know it up until this moment, but that's what I want. I don't know where any of this is coming from, but, that's what I really, really, need. I need Fraser swearing and moaning and breaking apart underneath me. I need to get all the angry out of me and out of him, too. I want his anger like I've never wanted anything before. I'm not safe, and he isn't good, and God damn it I don't care if I have to ruin my life tonight, we're going to prove it.

"NO." He shouts, trying to shake me loose with his hands on my ribs. "Stop this, before it goes any farther. It's already gone too far. You're drunk, and we're both going to regret this. What's the matter with you, Ray?" The disgust and denial in his voice has no affect on me, all I can feel is his erection under mine and his hair in my fists. I've got him, he's not going anywhere. I'm pulling so hard on his hair that his eyes are watering, and the fury in his face is perfect, so hot all I can think about is ripping his clothes off.

As fast as I can, I let go and rip his shirt in half, buttons bouncing and rolling across my floor. He's making his move, though, his arms coming up to push me off him. He sits up and I'm sprawled between his legs. I can see a million thoughts going through his mind, but what comes out of his mouth is, "You know, Ray, there are better ways to go about this."

That's just so fuckin' Fraser that it makes me want to kiss him and smack him in the face at the same time. I know he wants it, we both know he just admitted to me he wants it, but he can't come out and fucking say it. He can't own up to it. All he can do is give me a hard time about my tactics. I feel a wicked smile flash across my face as I crack my neck and shake my head at him.

"Nah there ain't." I almost feel like laughing, as I lunge into him, slamming down on his body with my face in his chest.

He hits the floor with a solid thunk and a whoosh of air. I've got all my body weight pressed down into his crotch, holding him. I reach out to grab his arms but he's already moving, trying to push me off him again. He's fighting back, but nowhere near as hard as he was a few minutes ago. I'm all over him, grinding, squirming, crawling up his body, pushing him down, my own personal victory dance.

"Then we shouldn't be doing it at all," he gasps, trying to keep up a conversation while we're rolling around and wrestling and humping each other's thighs.

"Oh yeah we should," I pant in his ear as I try to push the flannel off his shoulders. His hand is on my chest, pushing harder, and then it moves up to my face to try to shove me away. I lean in over him, determined to get back to his mouth. When I turn my head his fingers are against my lips and I suck three into my mouth, running my tongue up and down the knuckles.

He jerks underneath me, and lets out a moan that I can feel shaking through him. I close my lips around his fingers and suck harder, and he goes limp, falling back on the floor with his eyes closed. He's panting, close to hyperventilating because I won't give him his hand back, and now I'm biting in between sucks, clamping down whenever he tries to pull his hand away. Wow. I got him. I gotta take advantage of that. I want skin, I want contact. I yank the arm that's not attached to the hand in my mouth out of it's sleeve, rolling us onto our sides. My hand spans his wrist, grabbing him hard and pulling his hand out of my mouth with a loud smack. I pull the sleeve off him before he can resist, and throw the shirt across the floor. One more hard heave and I've rolled him over onto his back again, straddling his hips, with my hands pushing hard into his shoulders.

"Fight all you want, Fraser, say whatever you want to, but you're not fooling me."

"Noo," he moans, but quieter, his hands coming up to my hips and then falling away again. I know he wants this, wants to grind my hips into his hard-on, but he won't let himself, so I do it for him. I watch him toss his head back and forth, fighting to breathe and moaning "no, no, no Ray, oh no" but grinding back up against me just the same.

"No what, Fraser? No your dick isn't hard? No you don't want to get pinned and screwed on the floor? No, this doesn't feel good?" I push my hand between us, rubbing up and down over the tight bulge in his jeans, feeling him hot and hard under the seam of his zipper.

"Bastard," he hisses, tossing his head and pushing up into my hand.

I keep talking, next to his ear, reaching out to suck and bite on his earlobe. "Yeah, yeah, tell me I'm a bastard. Tell me I'm an asshole, tell me what a prick I am for making you feel this dirty and this good. Tell me you can't stand it, tell me you're gonna come."

"No. No. I'm not. I can't. Ray, I can't."

"Wanna bet?"

I pop his button and pull the zipper down one handed, like I've done this a thousand times before, which I haven't, ever. I don't even think about it, I just wrap my hand around him through his underwear and give him a good long feel. He's hot, pushing up into my hand and groaning, these choked off sounds of want and need and all the kinds of things that Fraser will never admit to.

"Tell me, Fraser, tell me all about how you're not gonna come when I touch you." I stick my hand under the elastic, taking his hot, thick dick into my fist. My other hand is fighting with my zipper, desperate for relief from the tightness of my jeans. I get them open, but it's going to take two hands to get them off and I don't want to let go of him.

"Oh God. Oh God. Ray. Ray don't... Oh good God, Ray."

"Come on, Fraser, you can do it, tell me to stop." I laugh a little in his ear, lick his neck and watch the defeat in his eyes when he can't make himself say it.

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. His hips keep rocking into my hand; desperate, jerky moves that make my dick twitch. I let go of him and yank my pants down as fast as I can, kicking them off my legs and groping for his cock again, touching him as soon as I can fight the jeans the rest of the way off with my legs. He lies still while I fight with my pants, then surges up under me the moment skin touches skin, and I hear myself let out a growl of satisfaction, plastering my body to live, warm flesh. It feels so good I almost don't realize he's talking again.

"This can't- we shouldn't- Oh lord, Ray. Oh, no, oh Ray. Ray, please. Oh no, Oh God." The moans keep going when I pick his hand up and stick his fingers back in my mouth. I liked it before, the way it felt sucking on his fingers, and now with his dick in my hand I can feel every little shiver and jerk of his body. I suck harder, pulling as much of his fingers down my throat as I can as I start to jerk him off. It's harder, different hand position than doing it to myself but it doesn't really slow me down. I jerk and twist, jerk and twist, rubbing my thumb over the head when he starts to leak.

"This isn't going to make you come, right, Fraser? You don't want this at all. You hate it, tell me how you hate it, Fraser." I'm panting in his ear now, rubbing my finally-free cock against his hip, more satisfied with his hard hipbone than I've been with anything in the last two years.

"Nooo- yes. Fuck. Yes!"

"Not yet," I growl, letting go of him and getting even more excited at the mournful, begging moan that comes out of him, his body curling up towards mine when our skin is separated.

I grab his hand, still wet from my spit, and pull it down with me to our hard-ons, pressing my cock against him and dragging across the swollen, shiny head. It looks hotter than it should, my cock over his, both of us just about to come. I groan, unable to take my eyes off us.

"Touch me. Fucking touch me. You're about to come, you can't lie to me, Fraser." I'm humping him, dragging his hand up and down on my dick with me, reaching around to grab him and pull his cock between our clasped fingers. "Yeah-yeah, feel that. Feel me. I'm all over you, Fraser."

"Ray! Ray! _Ray!_ " He voice breaks down into sobs as he starts to come. His free hand grabs onto my shoulder and clutches me fiercely to his body, pulling me with him as he arches and bucks into our hands. Hot come slicks over my dick and I'm gone, swearing and groaning into his ear, my hand clamped down on his, forcing him to hold me as surge after of surge of relief shoots out of my dick.

I'm collapsed on top of him, the only thing I can hear is Fraser's panting breath in my ear and the pounding of my heart. I think if I was going to be having regrets about this they'd set in about now, but I'm not. I'm feeling great, I'm feeling fantastic. I roll myself off him, hitting the hardwood floor with a thud. Cold wood feels good on my sweaty back, and I let myself sprawl, feeling the tingling aftershocks of pleasure shooting through my whole body.

I'm just starting to think about opening my eyes when he moves. I squint up into bright light and out of the corner of my eye I see him roll himself up, reaching for his pants. He puts himself back together faster than I thought was possible, tucking in the flannel shirt that won't button. He glares down at me, his voice cold and shaky when he speaks. For once, I realize that Fraser is talking compulsively, without planning out what he's going to say before he opens his mouth.

"That was... very foolish. That shouldn't have happened. I'm going to do us both a favor, and forget it ever did. As far as I'm concerned, Ray, this never happened. You were drunk, and obviously disturbed. By what I don't know, and frankly, at this point I don't care."

"Okay, Scarlet O'Hara, whatever you say. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

I laugh until my gut hurts, barely aware of him struggling into his boots and coat. By the time he's standing at the door, I've managed to grope for my pants and sit up on the floor.

"It never happened Ray, and it will never happen again." Fraser and his grand exists. If I weren't so worn out and so happy, I'd get up and smack him again.

"We'll see about that, Fraser, we'll see."

The End


End file.
